


Sun Veins

by EvieSmallwood



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, Rain, cute soft boys, floofy, i’m reddie for reddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieSmallwood/pseuds/EvieSmallwood
Summary: Richie and Eddie have an essay due. Naturally, they decide to get together to write it.And naturally... they don’t get any work done.





	Sun Veins

He’s totally not staring.

Except, maybe he is. It’s been like two minutes and it’s probably gonna get creepy pretty soon, here, but he can’t help it; his eyes keep getting caught by small things, like how Eddie’s hair glows in the dim lamplight, all soft and kinda golden at the ends, and _what the fuck_ Richie Tozier is _not_ a poet.

Eddie shifts, still seemingly unaware. He’s got his tongue between his teeth, brow furrowed together, tapping the end of his pencil against his notebook.

Then he does look up. A grin spreads across his face. “You’re staring, asshole.”

Richie smiles stupidly. “Huh?”

Eddie reaches out and snaps his fingers. “Concentrate, Trashmouth. I think we should make this paragraph longer.”

“What?”

“This one, about Claudia’s inner struggle? It feels really brief. There were like four chapters dedicated to it but we didn’t even talk about both sides and—you’re not listening, are you?”

With a huff, he falls back against the mattress. “God, who gives a fuck about Claudia?”

“Our teacher,” Eddie says.

Richie rolls his eyes. It _had_ been his idea to come here, after all. He’d pestered Eddie all during lunch, saying there was no way they’d get a good grade on the paper if they didn’t start right now, while the book was fresh in their minds.

Eddie had agreed, albeit reluctantly, and probably for good reason seeing as Richie’s hardly done any of the work (but he hadn’t planned on either of them _actually_ writing anyway).

The notebook is dropped against Richie’s stomach. “You try.”

“What the fuck, Eds?”

“C’mon, I’ve been writing everything,” he says, giving Richie’s shoulder a shove.

“And what are _you_ gonna do?”

Eddie flops back against his pillows. “I’m taking a nap.”

“A nap! I say, good chap, that sounds like a wonderful plan—”

Eddie kicks him. “Write the fucking essay, dipshit.”

Richie deflates. He sinks back against the wall, watching as Eddie squirms a little to get comfortable and then finally settles; eyes closed, eyelashes long and dark, lips parted just a little bit...

“I don’t hear you writing.”

“What? Oh.”

The essay. Right.

Richie shifts his attention to the lined paper, cheeks flushing. He glares down at the slanted words. There are some sentences written in his chicken scratch scrawl, but most of them are done in Eddie’s loopy, pretty penmanship.

Words catch his eye, written lightly against the paper without care or second thought. _Lover, struggle, pining, desire._

Richie looks over at Eddie again. Then back to the paper. His hand is moving before he can even register what he’s putting down.

_Who gives a fuck about her struggle, what about my struggle? Fucking Eddie._

He erases the last part, and then all of it.

“Eddie, this blows chunks.”

“Just do it.”

“I’m bored,” he whines, setting the notebook aside. Richie crawls closer, so that he’s laying next to Eddie. “This is dumb.”

“It was your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know it was gonna be so hard!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. His eyes are still closed. “I’m not doing it all for you.”

Richie looks at him for a long moment, taking in the few freckles scattered across his stupidly cute nose, and the way his eyelashes flutter over his cheeks and cast dark shadows.

He leans forward, gently brushing his nose against Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie’s eyes open. “What’re you doing?”

“I miss you,” Richie says. He presses his lips to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Don’t you miss me, Eds?”

“You’re just trying to distract me, and it’s not gonna work.”

“Uh huh.”

Their lips touch. Lightly at first, and then they’re moving together, all lazy and soft, but it makes Richie’s head spin anyways. He sinks into the bed, shifting closer to Eddie; pulling him in. Their legs tangle together, like they’re just one person all mixed up. Eddie’s hand is in his hair. Slowly, his lips start to part—

Something wet splatters against the back of Richie’s head. He jumps, drawing back and wiping it away.

“Eddie, your roof is leaking.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Richie sits up after Eddie, frowning at the spot on the ceiling. “Either that or it’s marking its territory.”

“Fuck,” Eddie says. He stands abruptly, but he’s still not tall enough to reach the spot even with the leverage the bed provides. “ _Fuck_.”

“It’s not a big deal, just get a pot or something.”

Eddie reaches up, trying to poke the spot. “It _is_ a big deal,” he argues. “My mom is gonna explode.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Richie giggles. “Fuckin’ chunks everywhere. _Sonya bits._ ”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “You’re so gross.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Okay, whatever.” Rich shrugs. “So don’t tell her,” he says. “It’s almost summer. Odds are, this’ll be the last time it rains for a while.”

Biting his lip, Eddie looks down at Richie. “You think?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to look nonchalant even though his heart is racing because Eddie’s eyes are so intense and _pretty_ and _what the fuck._

It seems to work well enough; Eddie nods to himself, and then hops off the bed. He’s gone for a moment, footsteps sounding on the wooden floors of the Kaspbrak home. Richie rolls over onto the safe side of the bed, glaring out the window.

The sky is grey, heavy, gloomy. Clouds swirl—an intimidating backdrop against the boring rooftops and chimneys of Derry’s homes.

God, this place sucks. He doesn’t think he’ll ever escape the bad things, the memories.

(Or maybe, if all goes as planned, he and Eddie will get the fuck out of here soon enough.)

Eddie returns with a pot before Richie can think too much. Like a saving grace, he swoops in and jumps on the bed, drawing the sheets back and placing it right under the leak.

“So where are you gonna sleep?”

Eddie looks away from the pot. “What?”

“At night,” Richie shifts onto his side. “Y’know, to catch Zs, dummy? Where are you gonna sleep?”

A shrug. “Here, I guess.”

“ _Or_ ,” Richie leans closer, body curling a bit so that his head is almost touching Eddie’s knees, “you could stay at my house.”

“Aren’t your parents out of town?”

Richie grins, eyebrows lifting higher.

That makes Eddie blush, which is the absolute best. He looks back at the spot, frowning. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“ _Because_.”

“Aww, c’mon, Eds, it’ll be fun,” he pokes a kneecap, and Eddie rolls his eyes. He looks a little pale.

“I don’t know if...”

Rich props himself up, attention caught. “What’s up, buttercup?”

Eddie’s gaze flits to him, seeming a little thrown off. “I don’t know.”

“You’re acting all sullen and moody and withdrawn. My god, are you on drugs, boy?!”

“Richie—”

It’s too late. Richie’s grabbing him by the wrists and tackling him. He tickles his ribs, grinning at the uncontrollable laughter Eddie lets loose. “I knew it,” he says. “This whole time, it was only the _crack cocaine!_ ”

“Rich, stop!”

“No way,” he pins Eddie’s arms above his head with one hand, watching him squirm. “Don’t be such a pussy, Eds.”

“I can’t _breathe_ —”

That’s all it takes for Richie to let go and slip off of his waist. Eddie starts gasping, far too frequently and deeply.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“Not...your fault,” Eddie manages. Then, “inhaler...?”

Richie retrieves it from the nightstand, shaking it up before handing it over. “Time for your meds, Eds.”

One puff, two. The color returns to his face.

“Better?”

Eddie manages a hasty nod, eyes closed and still struggling just a little. Richie settles beside him, reaching out and placing a hand on his chest. “Just breathe.”

Eddie does, drawing in deeply, repeatedly, until everything slows. He turns to Richie. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“For very wrong reasons, I hope,” Rich says. He winks like an idiot, which makes Eddie laugh.

Then they’re just looking at one another, and Richie’s hand is still on Eddie’s torso, trailing up and down from his stomach to his heart.

(his heart, which is pounding against his chest, loud and fast and practically terrified.)

Richie taps Eddie’s forehead. “Everything steady with Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Shut up, stupid,” he says, cheeks dark.

They still haven’t looked away. It seems like an eternity passes with every heartbeat.

“Rich...”

It seems like, between them, there’s always a certain warmth. It varies in intensity. Sometimes it’s just there, in his chest. Or it’s like now, where it feels like his face is on fire and just being this close is almost excruciating.

“Yeah?”

Then everything is dim. Eddie closes his eyes, rolling onto his side. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, Eds, don’t freeze me out. God, I thought I was gonna have to do CPR on your ass. I think I deserve to know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

There’s a lull. For a minute, they both just lay there, listening to the rain patter against the drains and into the pot behind them.

Richie pokes Eddie’s cheek.

“Jesus Christ, Rich, just let it go!”

“No way!” Richie pokes him again. “You were gonna ask me something. What was it?”

“Forget it,” Eddie frowns. “It’s embarrassing.”

“ _Embarrassing_ ,” Richie echoes. He leans over Eddie. “Eddie, man... do you have AIDS?”

His best friend’s face stretches into a reluctant, exasperated smile. It’s absolutely without a doubt the cutest thing Richie’s ever seen, but that’s irrelevant. “Fuck you, Trashmouth.”

“I fuckin’ knew it. AIDS and the syph, huh? God, what a drag. That’s what you get for living with your Ma, though.”

“You’re a dick.”

“That’s what they call me,” he tips an imaginary hat. “Dick Tozier, at your service.”

Eddie huffs. “Why do you have to make everything a joke?”

“Because it eases the tension!” Richie pinches his cheek. “Look at you, you’re so tense! You need a massage, huh, tightass?”

“We should finish the essay.”

“You should ask me your question.”

Eddie swallows, like, audibly. It causes Richie to halt, leaning up a little. “Eddie?”

Brown eyes meet his, full of fear.

“Are we, like, dating?”

A beat.

Another.

And then Richie is laughing his ass off.

Eddie groans. “I knew it was a stupid question.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he tries to catch his breath, reaching out and taking Eddie’s hand. Their fingers twine together almost unconsciously. “I just... _god_ , Eddie. Duh.”

“Well, what do you expect? We make out all the time, but we never talk about it, and no one else knows. We never go on dates, you never say I love you—”

It takes all his courage, but at the same time, it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie blinks. “Okay.”

Richie slaps a hand against his chest. “Oh, fuck, the _rejection_ —”

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

“It _burns_ —”

“ _Richie_.”

“ _Eddie_ ,” he mimics. “I’m gonna kiss you, now, okay?”

His eyes light up. They’re so close. His heart is pounding in his chest. Eddie’s hand is on his cheek, warm and soft.

“Okay,” he whispers.

It’s a different kind of kiss; intense and open mouthed and full of passion. Eddie moans audibly, which drives Richie crazy and he knows it. He kisses him harder, determined for it to go on and on forever.

Only, there’s this thing called oxygen.

He pulls away, but Eddie chases his lips, yanking him back down and wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist. “Don’t go.”

“Eds—”

“I love you,” he says, kissing him softly—on his lips, and then his chin, and then his cheek. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Their noses brush together almost sleepily. Richie’s eyelids flutter closed and he leans down against Eddie just a little more.

“Who woulda thunk it, huh, Eds?”

His boyfriend reaches up and brushes a stray curl from his eyes. “Beep beep, Richie.”

“Roger that,” he says.

They don’t say anything else for a while, and even if it’s freezing cold outside, he’s warm in here.

**Author's Note:**

> So, it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve written. I’m sorry if this was rocky or horrible, I’m just trying to find my groove again. 
> 
> Thanks for reading xoxo


End file.
